She was so beautiful, all dark hair and wide eyes, standing there in the kitchen where the late afternoon light was the best. The room smelled like linseed oil, a streaked canning jar of the lemony cleaning solution more potent than potpourri. Her easle and canvas were on the island, tubes of oil paint spread out around the old fishing tackle box
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This a brilliant tribute.
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I'm glad your mom made time for herself, and grew her hobby into something huge enough to become a big part of her everyday life.
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